Creativity
by Kyron
Summary: ProwlxJazz, G1 Continuity.  A prank Jazz plays on poor Prowl turns bad and Jazz has to face the consequences.  PlugnPlay inside.


**Creativity**

It had started out as a game. Mostly, it was innocent, the simple objective being to do something creative or just out of the ordinary to keep us from being bored or just because we could. Other times, it was not so innocent. Other times, of course, being now.

I couldn't concentrate. There was too much going on around me, near me, and even in me. My body felt like it wasn't my own, acting under the signal pulses that danced through my systems. Each of the coded packets sent across the numerous links translated differently in my circuitry and thus drew different reactions from the affected areas. Mostly, it left me a trembling wreck of on-edge nerves and shorted out vocal processors. My optics gave up a while back, leaving the normally bright visor a much more subdued blue. That was okay though because I didn't need to see what Prowl was doing. No, I had the best seat in the house for that.

The night had started normal enough. It had been Prowl's turn to continue our game. Initially, I thought he had forgotten about it, seemingly more absorbed in his work than usual. He'd even gone so far as to discretely avoid me by keeping us both too busy to think straight. I figured that it should have been a sign. Prowl never intentionally ignored me save for three reasons: 1) he really was that busy, 2) he was fragged off at something I did, or 3) he was planning something and it had absolutely nothing to do with work. In all honestly, I had thought it was option B, simply because of the fact that I had been playing some rather silly jokes on poor Prowl recently. I figured that the whole 'wrap Prowl's office up in strings of popcorn and paper chains idea' wasn't the best thing to do. The contact cement I'd used to affix the items to every available surface probably hadn't helped much either.

I passed Prowl in the rec room while fetching my nightly ration of energon. He didn't even give me a glance until he left. Even then, the look seemed more like a rather pointed glare. I gulped hard, the idea that Prowl was angry only reinforced with that one look. The way I saw it, I had two options: hang out in here until Prowl fell offline for the night or get my aft down to the room and get this cleared up as soon as mechanically possible. The more I thought on it, the more the first option tempted me. However, my own morbid curiosity of what I did to gain my lover's ire had me leaving the rec room just a few minutes after he did.

Prowl looked up from his data pad as I entered their room. I stood close to the door, trying to feel out the vibes in the room. Prowl looked at me, optics cool and reserved, giving away nothing. He'd stopped reading his data pad and walked to stand closer to me, crossing his arms over his chest and just looked at me with slightly irritated and narrowed optics.

I squirmed, valiantly trying to hide the fact that Prowl's gaze did more than just unnerve me. I'd long ago found out that the tactician's looks spoke more than anyone would initially realize. Learned to read them even, trying more and more to figure out what was going on in his processor. You'd think I'd actually gotten rather good at it, that is, until today. Prowl gave me nothing through his optics. His gaze was cool, calculating and steady. There was no heat, no anger, no play, just the typical logical thinking Prowl. Well, that had been my initial opinion of this whole situation. Prowl, apparently, had other ideas.

"You destroyed my office again, Jazz."

"Well, I wouldn't say -destroyed-…"

"The application of adhesive substances, noxious substances I might add, near sensitive data pads turned out to be highly detrimental. You're lucky only minimal damage occurred to the files."

Whoops. Okay, so that hadn't been part of the plan. Now that I thought about it, there wasn't much of a plan anyway.

"That bad, huh?" I said, pitifully. I could feel this sudden drop in my fuel tanks, felt cold even, letting me know that I was not about to like what he had to say.

"Indeed." he said, huffing out a breath before continuing. "I've been trying to determine a suitable punishment for such blatant infringement on the regulations for the proper handling of data files."

Punishment?! He's serious! I couldn't believe it. It was so, so… Prowl-like.

In all honesty, I had no words to describe it. Part of me still didn't even register what the slag was going on.

"Prowl, I-"

"I've mulled over dozens of possibilities and one has been chosen." he interrupted, hardly giving me time to even get his name out.

"Prow-"

"You will rewrite the corrupted files, on your own time, in order to correct the now lost data. You are to do this in total silence. No radio, no talking, no noises other than the typing on the data pad."

He pushed the data pad he'd been reading earlier into my hands and I just gaped. It was one thing to make me rewrite the corrupted data but another to make me be silent about it. I don't do 'silent'. And yet…

"Take a seat, Jazz. This starts now."

Yeah, I was -so- slagged.

I mustered up as much of my rather bashed pride as I could and moved towards the chair, stopping to give Prowl the most hurt look I could muster. It did all of nothing. He simply raised his optic ridges in a look that plainly said 'Why haven' you started yet?' and nodded at the chair. With a sigh of my own, I plopped down in the chair and jabbed a finger at the data pad to activate it. Prowl took position just to the side of my right shoulder, arms crossed over his chest, and watched as I typed. So, he wants to play security guard in the process? Fine. I started working, completely ignoring the fact that he was constantly staring over my shoulder. I even managed to ignore him as he started moving about the room a while later. My audio sensors tuned him out as completely as possible. There was no doubt in my mind that I was disappointed with the way our evening off was playing out but it seemed I had very little choice in the matter. Prowl gets his mind set on something and he doesn't let up until he's satisfied with the end results.

I shuttered my optics and froze when I felt familiar hands gripping my shoulder struts and start intentionally massaging them. It was soon followed by the light tracing of…something across my plating. My optics shot back open. He is -not- doing what I think he's doing.

Was he?

Prowl stood close, I could feel the heat from his external skin across the plating over my back. It took so much for me to force myself to -not- just lean back against him and relish in any attention he's willing to give anytime. I don't care if he is fragged off at me or if I'm fragged at him. A single touch and I'm done. Thing is, he knows that too. Though, at this point, I'm not sure why he's doing this since I'm supposed to be punished for the whole 'destruction of data' thing. So, I try to stay my stubborn self and continue to ignore his attentions. However, any thoughts of ignoring were very soon tossed out the preverbal window the instant I felt more than just his -hands- on my armor.

There was another touch, fleeting and light. It moved smoothly and fluidly as it ghosted across my paint. Prowl's hands, however, were still on my shoulders. So what -else- was touching me?

I risked a glance over my shoulder, my optics wide at the sight of the slinking cable that lightly caressed my armor. The slagger was using his data extension cables…

There wasn't any time for me to protest this strange behavior since one of the cables managed to find an input jack just behind my shoulder. I arched, choking off as much noise as I could as the cable locked into place and the data flow started.

"I thought…I was in trouble." I managed to gasp out. The rawness of information that flooded my systems caused my vocalizer to short sporadically but no way was I about to complain.

"You are. I will not mollycoddle you, Jazz. Your actions were a blatant failure to follow the orders and regulations of those appointed above you and thus you incurred your own fate in the matter." he said, lowering himself to speak close to my audio. "And you were not given permission to speak."

It wasn't 'what' he said that got to me, it was -how- he said it. Never have been able to figure out how he can melt me with just a slight octave change but he does it every time. Couple that with the fact that another cable had made contact with an input port and nearly sent me into spasms right then and there. And I would've had my stubborn streak decided that I was not giving in this easily. That is, of course, if you can call this "easy"…

So, I'm here, firmly seated in my chair with a data pad, Prowl attaching himself to me with numerous data cables and I can't make a sound. Under different circumstances, I might find this situation kinda creepy if not down right frightening, however, in this instance, it's probably the most erotic thing Prowl has -ever- done. And no way in the Pit was I going to convince him to stop.

Not that I -could- even if I wanted to but that's not the point.

My chest was heaving from the sensations he'd already driven through my systems even as a third connection was made behind the protective panel of my back. It was soon followed by a fourth and a fifth data line. A very tiny part of my now-defunct processor wanted to know exactly how many of those things he had. Another part was feverously trying to find a way to counter. Unfortunately, or fortunately I guess, depends on your point of view, it was drawing a blank and drowning in the information overload that Prowl was steadily building towards. The hardest part, however, was keeping my vocalizer quiet. My partner knows how to play me like a deck of cards when he wants to. He knows where and how to touch and, I know it's not just my imagination, I'm feeling touches in places his hands -nor- cables are anywhere near. He's causing me to ghost, making me feel things that aren't really there. Absently, I hear the screen of the data pad crack under the strain my hands had to be applying to it. I couldn't let it go for fear of losing what little hold on reality I had left. That and it kept me from jumping the sorry fragger and making him give me very -loud- sounds to make up for the ones he was forbidding me to utter. That's just for initiating this bout of playfulness during my 'punishment'.

A sixth connection made it's self known, making me bite back a very unmasculine cry. My systems were reeling, unable to keep up with the data influx. I blame the fact that it took me several moments to realize that Prowl had managed to connect himself to an output jack on the fact that I thought my processors were going to melt down to puddles of goo and then dribble out my audios. The realization, however, brought a wicked little grin to my face plates and ideas very quickly formed. Somehow, I managed to get my hands to cooperate with me for a scant few moments but it was long enough to type out a message on the now-partially operational data pad and holding it in such a way as to ensure Prowl saw the text.

:You're Mine.:

Sure, it flickered around the cracks that had been quite unceremoniously created but apparently, the point was made. The only sound that permeated the room after that, other than our heated systems cycling, was the sharp intake of breath from Prowl. It was then and only then did I strike back.

His data flow never ceased and barely stumbled as I started sending signals back to him through the data extensions that connected to my output ports. I routed feedback loops to send him the system reactions to what he was doing to me. He could now feel every little minuscule packet of information that he sent as it surge through my systems in real-time. A fitting retort, I thought, for his devious little sneak attack of using those cables in the first place.

Apparently, it was working better than expected. Prowl's grip on my frame tightened to nearly painful levels and his body sagged against mine. His whole chassis was hot, a clear indication that he'd not been immune to his own little game and most certainly was not immune to mine. He did seem to be holding himself to the same rules he'd implied on me though by not crying out like he knew I really wanted him to. The low breathy groan he gave as he buried his face in the crook of my neck, however, was not a bad way to start making up for it.

I thought I was doing okay at that point, strained but okay. But Prowl, enigma that he is, sought to change that and quickly. His hands released the death grip they held on my shoulder struts and began to shakily move over my heated plating. The subtle trembling of those hands sent vibrations across my frame. It was like a ripple, staring small but soon, very soon, had my entire body shaking in time. What almost did me in for good though was when he -growled-. Cross my spark and hope to rust, he growled. Right in my audio. I've never heard such a sound come from him and I'm not kidding when I say it blew my mind. He also made sure to loop his own outputs at the same time.

The data pad fell and clattered to the floor sometime around then as he wrapped his arms around my chest, fingers curling under the lip of my bumper. The feedback loops were constantly doubling on top of one another, sending more overlapping signals than either one of our processors could maintain for any length of time. I let my head fall back to his shoulder, my hands automatically reaching for and grasping at his arms. The somehow coherent, or possibly feral, mind of my partner seemed to figure that taking advantage of my nice, vulnerable posture was appropriate. And he did so with his standard and very direct way by taking nips at the fuel lines and tension cables in my neck. Those are sensitive and parts were -designed- to feel pressure and tactile sensations since they were probably the least protected when fully exposed, as they currently were. That slagger knew it, too. As it stands, there was no way I could have prevented the strangled moan that escaped my vocal unit nor the automatic tightening of my hands on his forearms.

I could hear the haggard and laboring sounds of his intakes as they fought to keep up. I could feel the furious pounding of his fuel pump just as surely as he could feel mine. Both of our internal temperature regulators were apparently offline as our skins continuously got hotter with each moment. There was no way this could possibly continue for much longer and we both knew it. However, me and my stubbornness, decided I was going to have the final word. I flooded the output lines with a series of rapid data transfers and made fragging sure I was relentless while doing so. He tensed, a startled gasp followed by a lengthy moan left his vocal processors and his hands tightened and released my frame in spasms. Before either of us could process anything further, he was quickly engulfed in the tell-tale tendrils of blue energy as his processor finally caved. There wasn't much time for me to be smug about my 'victory' since, in my determination to 'have the last word', I forgot about both feedback loops.

The sensations hit me quickly, tensing every fiber, wire and cable in my body as his overload fed back to my system with shocking clarity. I could feel the pulse of each transfer I'd sent right along with the responding signals from his processors and relays. The effect was instantaneous and alarmingly forceful as it pushed my own processors to the breaking point. I felt my overload cascade back to him through the data extensions, the ghosts of his own still present in my transmission. The response was quick, sending the original, weakened information right along with his reactions to the most recent bombardment on his processors. The transfers continued for several moments and neither of us could seem to stop the process since our own systems were not being given any chance at all to recover. The feedbacks continued doing what they were designed to do, doubling the reactions from one partner to the other and soon had both of us overloading again, the second in a very short time frame. Both of us cried out then, Prowl's still muffled against my neck. I think his knees gave out then because I felt a lot more of his weight over my shoulders as he managed to cling to my chest. Blue static danced between both our chassis', the faint glow becoming brighter and brighter as the loops continued.

It felt like liquid fire in our systems. Warnings flashed across my vision, trying to tell me of overheated servos and a very high probability of core damage if the activity did not cease soon. Fortunately, our data buffers took that moment to kick in and start rerouting the signals and disengaging the loops on their own. The only alternative to that, had the system not activated on it's own, was a stasis lock that would have Ratchet fuming for weeks. Given the amount of raw data that had been transferred, however, it still seemed to take forever and a day plus one for our systems to regulate themselves enough for us to think even half-way straight.

Neither of us moved for a long, long moment as the blue tendrils of static and excess energy bled from our frames and dissipated into the air. Prowl, I think, moved first, if only to get his feet back under him, shaky as they probably were. I don't think I could even really -feel- my legs at that point and thus decided I wasn't going anywhere for the moment. Prowl's grip on my grill relaxed but he seemed to have no further inclination to move any more than absolutely necessary. Eventually, our intakes leveled out to a more tolerable level and I felt the soft click of the data extension cables as they slowly withdrew from the connectors and retreated back into Prowl's wrists.

"Berth. Now." he said, voice still low and barely above a whisper. His tone sent chills down my still very sensitive frame. I groaned as a small shiver worked it's way through my plating at even the slightest breeze in the room.

Somehow he hoisted himself off of me, finding the strength to stand and even make his way to our recharge berth a few meters away. Once there, he plopped, quite ungracefully, to the surface. I took a few moments to try and orient my processors and tell my gyros that 'yes, my legs are still present and functional' before even making an attempt at standing, much less walking. I leaned forward in a motion to stand but stopped as my optics were drawn to the numerous pieces of the data pad that now lay destroyed on the floor.

Slagging data pads…who needs'em, anyway?

I let out a huff of air and pushed myself to the standing position before staggering, rather drunkenly, to the berth. Prowl scooted towards the wall and lay on his side, drawing me to him by my midsection when I copied the maneuver. I snuggled myself as close as I could possibly get, given our design differences, and heard him give a contented sigh.

"You know, I should start redecorating your office for you more often if that was your idea of 'punishment'." I said, my own voice sounding more than just a tiny bit tired.

"Only if you make sure to not irrevocably damage anything." he replied, equally tired.

I frowned then, my processor reminding me that the data pad now lay in a dozen or so pieces.

"I'm gunna have to start that entire file over again, aren't I?" I asked, heaving a heavy sigh as I did so.

"Actually…" he started, sounding slightly hesitant and even a bit uncertain.

"Actually?" I prodded, adjusting my position a lie on my back and get a good look at his face. I had a feeling about this one…

"Actually…the data pads were recoverable. That one was simply a copy of one of the damaged ones before I fixed it."

I gaped, openly and blatantly.

"You mean you…and…" I stuttered. Stuttering is so not my style but man, he threw me for a loop with that little bit of info. "You planned all this out?!" I exclaimed, more shocked than anything.

"Well, not all of it…most of it was, how do the humans say? 'By the seat of my pants'?" he said, a hint of a smile gracing his face.

"I hate you." I told him after a pause and with absolutely no heat at all. I even cracked a bit of a smile.

He did smile then, chuckling as he lightly nuzzled the side of my helm before curling himself against me, optics flickering. He murmured a fond 'Hate you too' before wrapping an arm around my abdomen and snuggling into my side. I watched him for a moment as he started to fall offline. Can't really recall a time where he's ever looked this at peace, even with the wrath of Ratchet pounding down should he ever find out about this whole feedback loop thing. I took in the relaxed door wings, the complete and utter lack of any tenseness that normally attaches itself to him, and, for the first time in a long time, the contented, small smile that still lingered on his face. Carefully, as to not pull him back from his recharge, I snaked an arm behind his back and placed it lightly between his shoulders. My hand lightly stroked the plating between his doors and Prowl's engine grumbled in a sound that rather resembled a feline purr. I chuckled quietly as my own systems demanded a rest from all of this 'strenuous activity' that I'd placed upon them.

It seemed I was wearing off on him a bit if he's being -this- devious and spontaneous all in one go. Either that or he's taking pointers from the Twins. If that's the case, I'll need to keep encouraging them. So, with my partner at my side, a busted data pad on the floor and the still lingering chills of a multi-overload on my frame, I managed to almost slip offline.

"Oh, Jazz?" he said, quietly.

"Hmm?" I mumbled, barely conscious.

"Your turn."


End file.
